


Song of the Siren

by PhoenixTalon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, Swanfire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/pseuds/PhoenixTalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fearsome pirate Neal Cassidy roams the Caribbean, seeking revenge against Killian Jones. Desperate to get him home, Gold hires bounty hunter Emma Swan to track him down and bring him home-all while negotiating an arranged marriage with the lovely Belle Favreau. A regency/pirates AU, Rumbelle and Swanfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Not a sound."

Neal Cassidy stiffened at the blade to his throat. The night was black as pitch on The Black Swan, a moonless night, keeping his aggressor within the shadows. He never should have taken the watch himself—but there was something very seductive being on deck of The Black Swan on a new moon. The stars danced, the wind howled between the sails, and Neal relished the spray of the sea.

"Remain calm," A quiet, distinctly feminine voice whispered in his ear. “I’m taking control of this ship.”

"Oh, are you?" Neal retorted, curling his fists ever so slightly as he frantically thought of a plan. His crew was below, but Michael or John ought to be finishing up their nightly chores… 

"Mmhmm," The voice purred. "You’ve got a lot of gold on your head, Neal Cassidy. The king wants you, the royal navy wants you…but I don’t think you’d be surprised at the highest price on your head, Blaise Gold." 

Neal inhaled sharply, his stomach turning to ice. ”Well,” He remarked. “That’s not something I’m called every day. I assume my father hired you, then?” 

"Daddy needs his heir, doesn’t he?" The voice replied idly. He hoped that their banter might cause her to loosen her guard, but she kept the knife firmly at his throat. She certainly knew what she was doing, he’d give her that. 

"You’re going to take the helm," She instructed, pushing him forward. "And sail to Port Royal. We’ll keep this nice and easy."

Port Royal. His father had taken up residence there and had quickly taken over the entire town. Rutherford Gold had everyone under his thumb and in his control, the governor, the mayor, the shopkeepers…Neal gritted his teeth. His father thought he could have control over everything, did he? Well, he was in for a shock. 

"Remain calm, Michael," Neal said at the top of his voice. "We’ll just do what she says."

She jerked against him, apparently alarmed at her discovery and Neal grinned that she fell for the bluff. He elbowed her hard in the gut, causing her to grunt in surprise while he unsheathed his sword.

Her reflexes were quick. Neal barely had enough time to admire the golden curls that framed her face and how mesmerizing her blue eyes were before he was suddenly sword fighting for his life. 

"Well, well," Neal smirked. "For a hired hand, your sword work is awfully formal. Could it be you’re from aristocratic origins?”

"I’m not into bonding over combat," She lunged towards him, barely grazing his cheek and he parried, leaping on a barrel.

"If I’m going to be forced to return to Port Royal, I ought to at least know your name," He pointed out. "As you know my real one." 

She flashed him a smile. “Emma Swan.” She swiped her sword at his legs and he jumped off the barrel and blocked her next lunge. He did a quick little trick with his wrist, disarming her with a snap, and she stepped away, nursing her own sprained wrist. 

She snatched a dagger out of her boot. He drew his gun. 

She narrowed her eyes. ”You’re cheating.”

"Pirate," Neal sang. "I’m terribly sorry, Miss Swan, but I am going to have to escort you to the brig. I’ll see to it that you’re kept comfortable. Thing is, there’s a man I have to kill, a mother I have to avenge, and returning to my father rather impedes that plan, you see.” 

Emma stared at him a long while before cracking a grin. ”I know who you’re seeking.”

"Fairly obvious at this point," Neal nudged her with his gun. 

"Very easy to swear revenge against Killian Jones," Emma pointed out and he gave a half-hearted shrug. "Not so easy to find him. And, as it happens, I know where he is."

"How convenient."

"I’m serious," Emma stared at him hard. "I’m not lying. I…worked with him, once upon a time."

Neal snorted. “A moment ago you were ready to force me to turn this ship around, never mind most of my crew would be arrested, all for a handsome price. Now you’re switching teams. You really are a pirate.”

“Never claimed otherwise,” Emma grinned. “So how about it?”

“I’ll consider it,” Neal eyed her carefully. “But I want to know a few things first.” 

****

A fortnight prior

"You cannot do this!" Maurice shouted. "I refuse."

"Temper yourself, Lord Favreau," Gold said in a bored voice. "You’re lucky I allow this much flexibility to our deal. You’re in quite a bit of debt. I’ve offered a solution.” 

Maurice Favreau attempted to compose himself. Gold watched with amusement as the idiot man clenched his fists, in all probability, biting his tongue till it bled. 

"I thought," Maurice said through gritted teeth. "That you would only accept my daughter’s dowry as recompense in a marriage between her and your son. That was the deal!”

"Strictly speaking, my words were, ‘your daughter’s dowry’," Gold’s eyes flicked towards the window, gazing at the sea. "As my son is otherwise occupied, on his own version of a Grand Tour—"

"Pirating every port from here to England you mean!"

Gold’s eyes flashed. ”Watch your tongue, Maurice. I am still willing to accept your daughter’s dowry as payment for the debt you’ve accumulated, but given the circumstances, I will have to wed the girl myself. She’ll be well cared for, if that’s your concern.”

"Do you think I would let my only child wed a beast like you?!” Maurice blustered. “Good God, she’s half your age!”

Gold rolled his eyes. ”I’m not interested in love, dearie. I’m interested in quelling the tide of scheming mothers that thrust their daughters upon my lap. I’m interested in having someone run the affairs at home while I am abroad—which will be often, until my son returns. I doubt I’ll even see the girl again, once the nuptials are over.”

There was a knock at the door and Gold looked away from the fuming man, fully concluding the conversation. A servant entered.

"Excuse me my lord, but Master Emmett Swan is here to see you."

"Good," Gold stood, nodding at the servant. "We’re done here, Lord Favreau. Those are your terms—that, or the oblivion of your family home." 

Maurice stared at him wide-eyed before storming out of his study. A tall hooded figure entered at his exit. 

"Emmett Swan," Gold motioned for the stranger to seat themselves. "Shall I call for tea?"

"Never been much of a tea person," The stranger removed their hood and Gold was surprised to find a woman before him. 

"So," She grinned at him cheekily. "Before I congratulate you for your impending wedding—let’s talk about finding your errant son." 

Gold tapped his desk thoughtfully. “I must admit, you’re not quite what I expected,” He told her bluntly. A woman in breeches of all things, not even making an attempt to hide her femininity, considering the long locks of golden blonde hair tumbling down her back.

“You wouldn’t have called on me if you knew I was an Emma rather than an Emmett,” Emma said blithely.

“You might be surprised,” Gold said cautiously. “Very well. You think you can find my son?”

“This is something of a specialty of mine,” Emma stood, sauntering across the room, examining some of the paintings hanging on the wall. “Finding people who don’t want to be found.”

Gold said nothing, merely watched her.

“And for the right price, I can have your sonny-boy back in time for your wedding. Hell’s bells, I’ll even make sure he jots down a wedding toast on the way.” She grinned at him insolently but his face was impassive.

“And what makes you so confident, Miss Swan?” Gold asked calmly. “You’re not the first person who’s promised to track down my son and return him to his rightful place. I doubt you’ll be the last.”

“I’m confident because he and I are the same,” Emma replied. She took down a small painting of Blaise as a boy and examined it. “Both searching for meaning on the high seas. Both abandoned by their parents—”

“I never abandoned my son,” Gold said icily.

She gave a little shrug. “Have it your sway. But the truth is, Mr. Gold,” She purposefully emphasized her omission of his title. “Only a pirate can find a pirate.”

“And that’s what you are, is it?” Gold asked flatly.

“I prefer privateer, since I always do it relatively legally and under hire,” Emma said cheerfully. “My point remains. The sea is in my blood, Gold. And there’s never been a single soul who’s escaped from me.”

Emma’s easy confidence regarding the matter was unnerving, truth be told. He’d come to realize that arrogance of that nature was usually a protective shield against some very terrible wounds. 

It was rather like looking into a mirror.

“Very well,” Gold inclined his head. “I’m aware of the financial price—anything else?”

Emma’s smile vanished and her eyes grew cold. “Yes,” She said calmly. “I want you to help me find my mother and father.”

****

Present day, Neal’s ship. 

“We should cut her throat,” Tamara said firmly. “If she escapes, she’s sure to tell Gold our location. We’re on Jones’ heels, we can’t afford anymore delays.”

Neal sighed. His second mate, while fiercely loyal and whip smart, had a rather cold-blooded nature when it came to stowaways. “That’s a little brutal for my tastes,” He stared out the window of his cabin musingly. “Can’t we just keep her in the brig for the duration of our journey?”

“And then what?” Tamara demanded. “After you kill Jones, what do you plan to do with her then? Mark my words, if we don’t kill her now, we’ll regret it for the rest of our lives.” 

Neal looked towards his third mate. The elder gentleman had thus far said nothing, smoking a pipe, watching Tamara rant. 

“James, I could use your input,” Neal exhaled. James Hook was the very bent of honor, but with a steel in his blood that could freeze even the most ruthless of pirates. They had been friends a long while, and Hook had just as much invested in revenge upon Killian Jones as Neal did. 

Hook considered. “To be frank,” He cleared his throat. “It’s optimistic to say ‘we’re on Jones’ heels’. We’ve a lead, a small, insignificant lead in the grand scheme of things, and if Miss Swan is telling the truth—her knowledge could be useful.”

“There’s the rub,” Tamara scoffed. “If she’s telling the truth.”

“Granted,” Hook acknowledged, polishing his silver hook with a handkerchief. “But it would not wholly surprise me. Killian’s love of women and notorious affairs throughout the Spanish Main are common knowledge.”

Neal frowned. “And you think Emma Swan could have been one of those affairs?”

“I’ve not a clue,” Hook said airily. “But two things are for certain. Killian’s women know more about his liaisons and where he makes berth than anyone else in the world. Secondly—we will never know if we slit Miss Swan’s throat.” 

Tamara sighed impatiently. Neal twisted his lips, considering.

“All right,” Neal said with finality. “We’ll keep her with us. We’ll dock in Tortuga, see where she leads us—and go from there.” 

Tamara ground her teeth. “Captain, I fear this is a mistake—”

“She’ll stay in the brig, Tamara,” Neal said gently. “Under careful watch. We’re the slyest dogs on the seven seas, no one person could get the best of us, not on our home turf.” 

Tamara nodded curtly and went for the door. The door was not quite slammed shut, but closed with such a decisive snap that Neal knew his second mate was seriously displeased. 

“They say it’s terrible bad luck to have a woman on board,” Hook remarked. “Not that I hold stock in such nonsense, it is refreshing to have civilized company—but my dear boy, you seem to have two tempests on your ship.”

****

Gold straightened his cravat and stared at himself in the mirror critically. He never thought he’d see himself in wedding attire again, not after Milah. He glanced out the window and was pleased to see that storm clouds had gathered—it looked as though a thunderstorm was approaching. He thought swiftly of his son and hoped that wherever Blaise was, he was safe. 

He sighed impatiently, looking at the clock hanging on the mantle. He was briefly reminded of when Blaise was a small child, how the little lad had hated attending church, sitting in the stiff-backed pews, listening to the chaplain drone on and on. He felt a surge of kinship—he could think of nothing less pleasant than dragging himself down to the chapel to attend his nuptials. 

The walk to the small chapel on the grounds of his estate was a lot shorter than he’d imagined. He took his time, enjoying the relative peace of his estate, inhaling the scent of rain. A thunderstorm would be a rather nice symbol of his feelings towards the marriage. Never mind. A few dull words, a short conversation explaining that he intended on leaving the following morning, leaving her to idle herself however she pleased—and that would be that. 

He noticed Maurice standing outside the chapel, looking very irritated. Gold smirked in triumph.

"Lord Gold," Maurice said tightly. "My daughter is inside. Since you insisted on a private reading of the vows…"

"Good,” Gold said crisply. “I’m not a patient man. It wouldn’t do if she kept me waiting.” A stray thought occurred to him that perhaps he’d kept her waiting, as he was a few minutes late to the ceremony, but he brusquely pushed it aside. He opened the chapel doors and strode down the aisle. 

She was wearing white, but thankfully it was a simple wedding dress. He could not see her face, which was veiled, and he tried not to count the long, droning seconds as the chaplain read the vows. He repeated them mindlessly and noted that when she returned the vows to love him in sickness and health, that her voice was low and husky, with a soft, lilting accent.

That was a mercy. He’d feared marrying a shrilled-voice woman.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," The dim-witted chaplain with a thoughtless smile beamed. "You may kiss your bride." 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Gold unveiled the woman and stopped short in the action. 

He tried not to stare, but it was hard. She was…nothing short of lovely. Breath-taking, even. Eyes the color of the sky above the ocean on a clear day, dark chestnut curls that framed her ivory skin. She gave him a shy smile at his surprise—a smile that held the barest hint of mischief.

Gold lowered his head. He’d originally intended on hastily brushing his lips against her cheek, but he found himself gently kissing her small mouth. It was not a kiss of passion, a bare moment of contact, terribly chaste—but strangely, he found ardor in it, and the desire to haul her against him and explore her fully. 

He broke away from her quickly before he lost his senses. She smiled at him again and he suddenly felt dizzy. Trying to regain his bearing, he looked away from her, gently taking her fingers and leading her down the aisle. 

Gold had to get control of himself. He had other things to worry about than a little snip of a girl with a siren’s smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma sighed, leaning her head against the wall. She wasn’t too proud to admit it—she’d underestimated Blaise Gold. Somehow, she’d imagined he’d be a spoiled little rich boy, but he’d surprised her. He was cunning, wily in away, cleverer than she’d anticipated. And it had landed her behind bars. 

And yet, there was a streak of honor in him. Ordinarily, she’d be rather nervous in a pirate’s brig, at the mercy of any scoundrel onboard. But she’d heard Neal sharply tell his shipmates not to bother her, or he’d string them up and fly a new sail. It was unexpected, to say the least. 

She sniffed the air. Standing, she walked over to the porthole, frowning at the shifting winds. Storm was coming—she supposed she’d find out firsthand how good a captain Neal Cassidy was. 

“Storm’s comin’, innit?”

Emma jerked in surprise. Her eyes narrowed as she peered out of the brig, noticing a stocky man, calmly chopping apples.

"You’re telling me the brig is right next to the galley?” She snorted.

“Ah, the captain has a soft heart,” The cook snorted in amusement. “Wants to make sure his prisoners are well-fed. Particularly the pretty ones.” He gave her a wink, rising from his work bench. Emma noticed that he leaned upon a crutch as he hobbled around the galley—his left leg had been cut off close to the hip. 

Emma smirked. “Now I get it—you’re not a cook, you’re my guard. Geez, Neal Cassidy must be really worried about me if he’s got me under Long John Silver’s watch.”

The sea cook snickered. “So you know of me, eh? You really are one of us. I had me doubts.” He offered her half of an apple and she shook her head. She’d never really been fond of apples. 

“Why?” Emma said challengingly. “Because I’m a girl?”

Silver chuckled. “By the powers, no. I’ve been around long enough to know that there ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than a woman with a blade. Ought to reexamine your perspective, lass. Pirates follow different rules than the gentry.”

Emma sniffed. “What makes you think I’m gentry? I grew up on the streets.”

“Maybe so,” Silver allowed. “Still. I know a highborn chin when I see one.” The ship rocked uncomfortably and Emma grabbed the door to steady herself.

“Wind’s picking up,” Silver noted. “Do excuse me, Miss Swan. I’m going on deck for a bit to make sure our illustrious captain doesn’t need my help.” He carefully set his apple paring knife down and hobbled towards the steps. It took talent to climb the steep steps but he managed it smoothly.

Emma, however, eyed the paring knife.

****

Isobel Favreau—or Isobel Gold as she was now called—was seated on the window seat of her new bedroom, musing as storm clouds gathered. Her new husband had not joined her after the ceremony, which she appreciated—she’d wanted time to say her goodbyes to her father, pack her things, and have a little introspection alone before her wedding night.   
She was married. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, her life was now bound to Rutherford Gold. Perhaps it should have frightened her, but Belle was not scared. Apprehensive, perhaps—but nothing beyond a typical bride’s nervousness, she imagined.

Despite her father’s admonitions, Rutherford Gold did not seem much of a demon. He looked more bored than anything else, though he had seemed a bit surprised when he’d unveiled her. Surprised at her age? He shouldn’t be, she was originally intended for his son. 

Belle sighed, mussing her hair in contemplation. It had been a relief to get out of her wedding things and changed into a nightdress. It wasn’t particularly alluring, with its high collar and lace, but she supposed it was appropriately virginal. She smiled a little, counting herself lucky—her new husband was an attractive man, with an almost patherish grace to his step, his brown hair streaked with gray. She rather liked the craggy angles of his face—she felt more attraction to men who had character in their features rather than typical Adonis-like princelings. 

The door opened and Belle inhaled sharply as Gold walked into the bedroom. He paused when he noticed her sitting on the window seat, his expression inscrutable. She wondered if she ought to be lying on the bed, seducing him. 

“Good evening,” She gave him a small smile. 

He cleared his throat. “Good evening, Lady—Isobel,” He corrected himself and she was amused to see the color rise in his cheeks when he said her Christian name. 

“Most people call me Belle,” She stood from her seat, walking towards him. “What shall I call you? Rutherford’s a bit unwieldy.” 

“Er—” Her husband considered and she wondered who the last person to call him by his first name was. 

“Rum is fine,” He said decidedly and walked with focus towards a small cart, with several bottles of port. He poured himself a drink.

Belle watched him fuss with the drink tray interestedly. “Would it be in bad taste to make a joke about you drinking port rather than rum?” She asked with a grin and he blinked at her, apparently shocked that she dared to tease him. 

“Would you like a drink?” Gold offered after a pause.

She brightened at this burst of friendliness. “My nurse gave me a bottle of champagne,” She suggested. “Would you like to split it with me? To celebrate?”

His lips thinned a little bit at her offer, but she took it as acquiescence. She went to her dresser and withdrew a small bottle of Dom Perignon, lightly joining him near the drink tray. He seemed bemused at her enthusiasm. 

“I’m surprised you want to celebrate,” Gold said languidly. “I was not your originally your intended, after all.”

Belle shrugged a little carelessly. “Well,” She said thoughtfully. “Before I was engaged to another man that my father had selected for me. Then when he began having financial problems, he agreed to the betrothal to your son. And when you…er, when my engagement shifted once again, my father would have done everything in his power to prevent it. But this time…I got to choose. I got to decide my fate.” She fumbled a little opening the champagne, but finally managed, carefully pouring herself and her husband a glass.

“And you chose,” Gold looked at her rather incredulously. “This?” 

Belle cocked her head. “Did I make a mistake?” She teased and to her absolute delight, he flushed. 

“I—I’m not under any pretension that this is what you would have wanted,” He took a hasty swallow of champagne.

She smiled at him which oddly enough, earned another flush. “Let me ask you a question, Rum,” She said softly. “Have you any objection to my reading?”

Gold blinked at her. “Reading? Reading what?”

“My books,” Belle explained. “My father never approved of them. Sometimes I had to hide them.”

“Your father’s an imbecile,” Gold said shortly and she winced a little at his tone. He looked a little abashed at how the words sounded and he cleared his throat.

“What I mean is,” He took a deep breath. “I’ve no objection to something as incidental as that. You are free to do whatever you wish. You are my wife now.” 

Belle raised her glass in a mild toast, sipping her drink. The champagne tickled her tongue and suddenly, her optimism towards the marriage as a whole rose even higher. She’d hoped at best to be ignored by him—kindness, she had not expected.  
Gold cleared his throat again suddenly looking nervous. Her eyes flicked towards the bed and she took a deep breath. 

“Shall we—retire for the evening?” She asked boldly, proud of herself that her voice didn’t tremble.

They locked gazes for a moment and her husband exhaled slowly, setting his glass down.

“I’m under no illusions, Lady—Belle,” He said quietly. “And I would never force your hand. There is a small dressing room attached to this room—it’s been prepared. I will sleep there, you may take the master bed.”

He bowed a little awkwardly. Belle’s brow furrowed a little. She caught his sleeve, pausing his progress to the little room.

“My lord,” She said clearly. “I don’t believe that was a part of our arrangement.”

He blinked at her. “What do you mean?” He asked warily.

“You made a deal with my father,” Belle said calmly. “More to the point, you made a deal with me. As of this evening, I am your wife, and I intend to see that through to its completion.”

Gold stared at her looking completely flabbergasted. Even Belle was rather stunned at her bold declaration, but truth be told, she’d been preparing herself for a wedding night all day. It rather felt like cheating to skirt out of it. 

“Belle,” Gold closed his eyes. “I would never force you to enact a carnal resolution to our agreement—”

“I don’t think you are forcing me,” Belle returned. “Has it occurred to you that maybe this is something I actually want? That finding out I was marrying you, while surprising, was a good surprise? That I actually…am attracted to you?” The champagne buzzed on her lips and she felt light-headed, but strangely proud at her little speech.

Gold seemed to be at a loss for words. Smiling, she took his hand and led him towards the large master bed. She took a seat and he followed suit, staring at her in astonishment. 

The windows rattled a little and Belle glanced over, noting that it had begun to rain. She gently took Gold’s hand and squeezed it. He stared at her small palm in his. 

"You…” He said haltingly. “Are not what I expected.” 

Belle dimpled. “You’re not what I expected either,” She assured him. “But I think we’ll both surprise each other in unexpected and altogether pleasant ways.” She’d meant in a life together, but some how her words seemed almost…seductive and she quickly turned her attention back towards the pattering rain on the window, hoping it would tame her blush. 

She could feel his gaze on her and a flush of heat coursed through her, at being so thoroughly inspected. She met his stare firmly, admiring the shade of his eyes. A sort of honey-brown—muddy at first, but with golden flecks. 

Marshaling her courage, she leaned towards him, brushing her lips against his. She’d been kissed before, by her first fiancé—and she was suddenly grateful she’d never met her second, it seemed an awkward affair to have kissed a son and father. She felt Gold exhale against her lips, his breath warm and shaky.

"Belle,” Gold’s voice was unspeakably tender and made her feel warm all over. “I’m not sure…you understand what you’re asking for…”

She kissed him again, a little more boldly, letting her lips linger against his. He tasted of scotch and wood smoke. His hands went to cradle her face and she shivered at his touch. He kissed her back more deeply and she opened her mouth to him, suddenly curious to how all of him tasted. 

Gold tried to pull away from her but her hands clasped his, keeping his hands stationary. She shifted closer, pressing her side against his as their kisses became more ardent, more intense, and a swirl of unfamiliar emotions coursed through her.

His lips trailed from her mouth to her jawline; she felt his rough stubble against her throat. Her fingers curiously entangled themselves into his thick silver-streaked hair and he groaned into her neck slightly at her perusal. 

Suddenly, she was on his lap and he was kissing her fully, responding to her attentions. It was such a frantic, glorious, whirlwind of a kiss that Belle nearly lost her breath. 

Gold’s gaze filled with fire. Fingers trembling, she unlaced the collar of her nightgown. It was a white, virginal thing, but it slid down her shoulders easily, exposing her pale skin. 

They fell onto the bed together, Gold’s lips tracing down her neck to her shoulders, tasting the nape of her neck. Her hands fumbled, slipping underneath his shirt to touch his skin and he shuddered beneath her fingertips. She gasped when she felt his teeth graze her skin and at the noise, he paused ever so slightly.

“Belle, I…” Gold stammered but she broke his admonition with another melting kiss. The skirt of her nightgown had ridden up her thigh and Belle felt his hands slide upwards, caressing her soft skin. She sighed into his mouth, electricity pulsing   
everywhere he touched. 

She felt him, hard against her hip, and felt inordinately pleased at arousing him this way. She arched towards him, loving the feel of his weight against her, somehow desiring more… His breath had quickened between each fevered kiss and she shivered when his hands touched her bare hip.

A pounding knock at the door interrupted their breathless venture.

Gold swore under his breath. Gently disentangling himself from her tight embrace, he rose from their marriage bed and stalked to the door. Belle watched him hazily, sitting up slightly. 

“What?” Gold snarled at the interloper. 

“Forgive me, my lord. But there’s trouble at the docks. The storm has gotten worse…”

****

Emma Swan was not a woman to get seasick, but The Black Swan’s constant churning and tilting would make even the most seasoned sailor nauseous. 

But more problematic—the constant churning of the waves caused the paring knife to slide back and forth on the table—back to where it was impossible to reach and to the front where she could just graze the handle, as long as her hands were outstretched. She felt like Tantalus in the old myths, particularly as the water in the brig began to rise. 

“Come on you stupid cursed thing,” Emma swore, straining to reach the knife, barely brushing against her fingertips before sliding away. “Just a little closer—a bit closer!” Curse her dainty fingers! Why did she have to be born a noblewoman’s envy and not a proper pirate, with calloused, meaty hands? 

The ship jerked horribly and Emma heard shouting on deck. But fortune smiled upon her, the paring knife slid past her wrist and she smashed her hand against it, cutting herself in the process.

"Gotcha!” Emma crowed in success, bringing the knife towards her lock. She ignored the little grazed cut and after a few long moments, managed to pick the padlock. She’d always been poor at picking locks, curse it all—took her ten times longer than any other thief. 

She pressed against the heavy door, stumbling out. She clambered up the steps, opening the doors on deck, and her eyes widened at the wicked crack of lightning, and the rain that immediately soaked her.

The storm had reached fruition and it was absolute chaos. Sailors were running to and fro, shouting at each other, tightening ropes and barking orders. So focused on making sure The Black Swandidn’t capsize, no one noticed her—she could hide inside one of the longboats and the first calm moment…

It was risky to steal a longboat and try and wrestle a storm, but Emma was a gambler by nature. She dodged the scurrying crewmen, racing across deck, grinning as the lightning flashed, illuminating the longboat. She was just about to cut the ropes with the paring knife she’d taken from the generous Long John, when she heard a shout.

"MAN OVERBOARD! THE CAPTAIN’S FALLEN OVERBOARD! SOMEONE HELP!”

Emma’s heart stopped. Her mind went blank and adrenaline and instinct took over and she snatched one of the dangling ropes from the mast and knotted it around her waist. She raced across deck where the sailors had gathered, past a shocked and outraged Tamara, her heart pounding louder than the thunder. She scaled the side of the ship with ease and leapt into the stormy sea.


	3. Chapter 3

Gold was not in the best of tempers. 

He was a man who valued structure, control, who weighed heavily on always having a plan. The plan was to marry Isobel Favreau, curtly tell her that he would be sleeping in the adjoining room, inform her that he would be sending her off to his country estates on the morrow while he attended to business in the city. A fair deal for any nervous bride who married against her wishes. They’d never have to see each other, except when society deemed necessary. 

But she had turned the tables on him.

He had not expected to be so…disarmed by her. He’d expected a shivering, silent girl, terrified of him, not a winsome woman whose laugh warmed his heart. She had wanted to consummate the marriage. Cynically, he presumed she wanted to make sure all her ducks were in a row, so that he’d have no reason to annul the marriage. But a ridiculous part of him actually hoped her words were true—that she desired him and was pleased with the marriage. 

“Is everything all right?” Belle asked sitting up in bed. She looked thoroughly disheveled, her chestnut curls everywhere, the collar of her nightgown slipping down her shoulder. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded and Gold reconsidered how necessary it was to go to the docks.

“My ships,” Gold explained, his voice dry. “The storm is…they want me to manage.” Perhaps it was just desserts that he’d yet to find a competent overseer to manage his ships and workers, that now he was being forced from his wedding night to take care of it himself. But this was to be his son’s job, and Gold was stubborn enough to hold off on that replacement. 

“I have to go,” He said tiredly, beginning to dress. “Forgive me…”

“Of course,” Belle’s voice was warm in understanding. “Is there anything I can do? To help?”

Gold shook his head. “No, sweetheart, it’s a nightmare out there. I’ll be back in a few hours. Get some rest.” He pulled on his coat and exited the room before realizing he’d called her a deeply sentimental endearment. And to think he’d once mocked the other lords and earls for being saccharine with their wives. 

He needed to be particularly careful about his enchanting bride.

****

Thank the gods I’m a strong swimmer.

It felt as though Emma had dived into pure ice, the frigid water soaking her to her bones, inhibiting all movement. She swam blindly through the inky blackness, the currents tossing her about, her arms groping uselessly in front of her—in the grand scheme of things, diving after her captor wasn’t one of her cleverer ideas.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the icy darkness for the briefest moment and she nearly let out the breath she’d been holding when she saw him, sinking directly to her left. His eyes were closed and fear, colder than the churning water, filled Emma’s heart. 

She kicked her legs hard, snatching his arm. Holding him as tightly as she could, she paddled towards the surface, ignoring that she was beginning to see spots and that she had no more air in her lungs. 

She broke the surface but immediately inhaled a gallon of water as a wave crashed over her. She tried to shove Neal upwards, to give him oxygen, but they’d begun to sink together, into the depths. 

Emma felt a jerk around her abdomen. The rope! Hauling herself forward, one arm still clutching Neal’s torso, she tugged the rope faintly, praying, hoping. Sure enough, she felt the rope go taut and she wrapped her arms around Neal’s torso as they were hauled out of the tumultuous waves. 

Strong arms pulled her onboard and she dragged Neal in tow. He fell on deck like a sack of potatoes and Emma immediately struck his chest hard. He jerked upwards, coughing seawater all over himself, Emma echoing in turn. 

She stiffened when she felt a dagger at her throat. Tamara was glaring at her. 

“So the little bird escaped,” She sneered. “Maybe we’ll have roast swan for dinner tonight.”

“Perhaps so,” Hook’s voice, lazy and languid intercepted. “As celebration for her brave rescue of our captain.” 

The dagger lowered and Emma took the proffered hand. Hook helped her up and raised an eyebrow and a thoroughly disgruntled Tamara. 

“Don’t be a fool,” She said through gritted teeth. 

“Fool about what?” Silver put in, though Emma noticed he kept a wide berth around Hook. “She saved the captain.” He patted Neal’s back comfortingly, who was still expelling water from his lungs. 

“She was trying to escape,” Tamara snarled. “She was noticed, so she went after the captain in the vain attempt to redeem herself, so she’d have an alibi.”

The crew shifted suspiciously. Neal rose, managing to catch his breath.

“At this point,” He told the assembly. “I don’t particularly give a damn what her motivations were.” He gave Emma a crooked grin. “But I like that idea of a celebratory feast. Preferably with rum.” The storm had begun to die down, but the rain continued to pound. 

Tamara looked like she was about to explode. Long John Silver seemed gleeful at her rage, while Hook remained thoughtful. The rest of the crew seemed eager at the thought of alcohol. 

“C’mon, captain,” A young boy took Neal’s arm and began to lead him towards his quarters. “Let’s get you out of the rain and dried off and get your heart pumping again—Long John, can you send up some rum?”

“Aye, Jim,” The sea cook nodded, starting towards the galley doors. 

“And my lady,” Hook inclined his head towards Emma. “Won’t you join us?” He nodded towards Neal’s cabin. Emma glanced at Tamara, who was looking murderous. 

Out of the frying pan, into the flames. “Sure,” She nodded, following them inside.

****

Neal’s cabin wasn’t particularly luxurious, but it accommodated herself, Hook, and the captain reasonably well. Neal disappeared into the attached bedchambers, presumably to change out of his soaking clothes. Emma wished she could do similarly. 

But when Neal returned, wearing a fresh black shirt and clean dry breeches, he tossed her a piece of clothing. 

“Here,” He said. “They’re probably too big on you—sorry about that. But I think Tamara would rather be strung up with the sails than lend you her clothing. You can change in my chambers.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. He rolled his own in response and wordlessly handed her a dagger for her own peace of mind. Glaring at them both, she ducked into his bedchamber and quickly stripped off her wet clothes.

She could hear Hook and Neal talking in low voices. She rooted around and found a belt, which made Neal’s pants somewhat fit on her hips. She didn’t like how she enjoyed the smell of his shirt. 

When she reemerged, she was surprised to see that Hook had exited. Neal was calmly pouring himself a large bowl from the soup tureen in the middle of the table. His eyes twinkled when he took in her ill-fitting clothes but he didn’t comment.

“Want some?” He offered. “Silver put something spicy in it. Said it ‘would heat up our bones right quick’.”

“Sure,” Emma said cautiously, taking a seat at the table. Neal’s dagger was tucked carefully into her pants, as long as she had that, she felt relatively at ease. 

“I got rum too,” Neal pushed a bottle towards her. She looked at him suspiciously and didn’t move towards the drink. He sighed. 

“Don’t trust me, huh?” He remarked.

“Never take a drink from a man you barely know,” Emma retorted. “Especially when you haven’t seen him drink from the same bottle.” 

“You’ve a suspicious nature,” Neal noted, grabbing the bottle and taking an exaggerated gulp. “That’s probably useful for your line of work.”

Emma smiled, taking the proven-safe bottle from his hands. “Once, I was given a job to track down a hatter from a poor village. He was supposed to be unsuspecting, innocent. I had tea with him, intending on knocking him out before the sandwiches were served. Turns out, he’d drugged the tea and I found myself tied up and gagged directly afterward.”

She took a gulp, enjoying the way the rum burned down her throat. “So yeah. I’m a little hesitant about who I accept drinks from.” She took a seat and started to devour the stew. It was tasty, with a kick that made her eyes water, but she consumed it hungrily. 

Neal eyed her thoughtfully. “So,” He took another bite of stew. “Why’d you do it?”

Emma swallowed uncomfortably. “Do what?”

“Save my sorry hide.”

She paused. Truth be told, Emma had no idea why she’d jumped in after the captain, particularly considering he was the one who’d locked her in the brig and his being thrown overboard could’ve been key to her escaping unnoticed. She chose a shrug as a safe answer.

Neal continued to watch her, his look inscrutable. She took another luxurious sip of rum, relishing the way it warmed her blood and clouded her head. 

“Does it matter?” Emma finally said challengingly. “I did save your sorry hide. Maybe that will earn a little trust.”

Neal laughed out loud. “Pirates don’t trust anyone, not even each other.”

“Maybe so,” Emma acknowledged. “But enough trust to get you to Tortuga. To help you find Killian Jones. I know that’s what you want.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve yet to explain how you know Killian Jones, except a very vague anecdote. How’d you get mixed up with him?”

Emma drummed her fingers against the table, considering. How many cards should she keep at her breast? She could tell she’d earned Neal’s respect, if not his trust, for saving him from a watery grave. 

“I met Killian a five years or so ago,” She replied. “Took up with him and his crew. I thought he could help me. I was wrong.”

Neal watched. “And your offer? To help me track him down—doesn’t that negate your previous deal with my father?”

Not necessarily, Emma thought to herself, taking a bit of soup. “At this point, that deal’s null. You’ve got the upper hand here, not me. Anyway, I’ve already missed dragging you back for his wedding, so—”

“His what?”

Emma raised an eyebrow at Neal’s shock. “His wedding. He got married. Didn’t you know?”

“How would I know that?” Neal snapped, his good humor fading. “Who did he marry?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, some noblewoman. Isobel something-or-other.” 

Neal’s eyes narrowed. His expression looked bemused but he didn’t elaborate on why. Instead, he took a swig of his drink thoughtfully while Emma waited for the verdict.

“All right,” Neal said finally. “We’ll take you at your word. You lead us to Killian and I’ll let you go.” 

Emma smiled. “Glad to see you’re making the smart decision. I know trust isn’t easy, but—”

“Oh, I didn’t say anything about trust,” Neal said calmly. “We’re pirates, remember? We’ve an understanding. Break our truce and…well, it won’t be pleasant.” His words were light and casual, but Emma heard the threat behind them. She tipped her glass to him and downed the sharp remains of her drink.

****

Gold returned to his house, soaked to the bone, exhausted, and nearly dead on his feet. 

The storm had wreaked havoc, as he knew it would. His laborers and workers were half-panicked, which meant that he’d had to scream his orders four or five times for them to sink in. His voice was raw with the effort, he felt as though he’d waged war with Poseidon himself, but at the very least his ships were not destroyed. The Spinner had a torn sail, but that was easily mended. The Beast and The Fairy Godmother were relatively sound, a fortune, as they were both due to travel tomorrow. 

He tramped up to the master bedroom, remembering Belle was within in the nick of time. He quietly opened the doors and took great pains to be silent as he shucked off his coat and boots. A fire had been lit in the fireplace and he wondered if she was responsible. 

“You look tired.”

Gold jumped. He’d been so focused on remaining silent as possible, he hadn’t even noticed his new wife curled up on the corner of the bed, reading a novel by candlelight. 

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” He said to her, his voice raspy. Her brow furrowed and she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded over to their dressing table. 

“I had some tea made—I’ve kept it warm for you, it’s chamomile,” She poured a steaming cup and handed it to him. He sipped it gratefully, feeling the hot liquid soothe his throat. 

“Are your ships all right?” She asked, her eyes filled with concern. “And your workers?”

Gold nodded. “Nothing was damaged too severely, thankfully,” He assured her. “Though I am bone-tired.” He cast a longing glance at their bed and realized with deep displeasure that he was far too tired to consummate their marriage. Belle deserved a perfect, magical, well-attentive wedding night, and considering his limbs felt like bags of sand, he doubted he could give her that. 

“Come on,” Belle said gently, leading him to their bed. He collapsed facedown and was vaguely aware of his wife massaging his back, easing the knots of tension that had been there far longer than the storm. It was an extremely soothing and particularly arousing sensation—but Gold was half-asleep before he could try and muster the urge to do anything about it.

He was aware of Belle snuggling next to him and he shifted slightly, turning on his side, allowing her to press closely towards his chest. He heard her sigh against him before he fell into a deep slumber.


End file.
